


kissing in diners

by sunsetozier



Series: everybody talks universe [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, anxious richie, but third kiss in total, first official kiss, they are babeys, this is the get together reddie scene for my gc fic wow wow wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 13:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18262466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetozier/pseuds/sunsetozier
Summary: His knees tremble when he walks over, his hands splaying on the surface of the table as he slides into the booth, his lips twitching up into some kind of half-assed smile as Eddie looks up at him and he murmurs a weak little, “Hey, Eds.”“I kissed you,” Eddie states, kind of timid but mostly firm.Richie blinks and slowly nods. They’re going straight into this, then.-Or, how Richie and Eddie officially get together in everybody talks





	kissing in diners

**Author's Note:**

> sara wants me to write one shots based on everybody talks and i got an ask for this that i filled months ago but never posted on ao3 so uhh here we are, enjoy this shit and lemme know if there's anything specific from everybody talks that you would like a full one shot for!

            He kind of wants to turn around.

            Like. Okay. This is good. The two of them talking is a good thing. But Richie already knows what the talk is going to lead to, and he knows it’s not going to be what he wants it to be. It’s going to be like last time, only worse, because he isn’t seventeen anymore, and he can’t just shove this away like he used to. When Eddie kissed him the first time, drunken and stupid and giggly and beaming at him brightly, lips tasting kind of like alcohol and orange juice and something a little bit too sweet, Richie had known it was a fluke. A mistake. Something that wasn’t supposed to happen, but somehow did, and instead of letting himself enjoy it for what it was, he freaked the fuck out, dragged Beverly and Stan out of the party, and cried to them about it for two hours straight because he didn’t know what the fuck else he was supposed to do.

            And he got his hopes up, letting himself believe them when Stan took his hand and told him that Eddie had to have felt the same. Beverly looked him in the eye and suggested asking Eddie out, and he was foolish enough to consider trying it. Dumbass Richie was a dumbass. Who would have thought?

            He isn’t a dumbass anymore, though, and he knows how this is going to go. Eddie is going to be sitting in a secluded corner booth, playing with a napkin nervously and looking stressed and sad and guilty, and the sight is going to be so painful to look at that Richie will lose his composure instantly. Then Eddie will look at him, wide-eyed and wonderful and too fucking beautiful for this bland fucking world, and he’ll say he’s sorry. He’ll say that he didn’t mean to kiss Richie, that he doesn’t know why he did it or what compelled him to do it in the first place. He’ll try to laugh it off and make it something funny and Richie will laugh along and say it’s fine and continue to be hopelessly in love for the rest of his life and never learn how to move the fuck on.

            It’s sad. Really sad, actually. But, unfortunately, it’s true.

            So, Richie wants to turn around. He really wants to go back to Stan’s place, text Eddie later and say that it’s fine, and just. Pretend it never happened. Pretend things are normal. Pretend he’s not in love with Eddie and kind of falling apart inside.

            But he doesn’t. Partially because that’d be a kind of shitty thing to do, standing up Eddie like that, but mostly because he’d looked Stan in the eye this morning and promised he’d show up and try to work it out. Breaking a promise with Stan is kind of like stabbing himself in the stomach – not ideal, more painful than anything else, and something he would really like to avoid doing. He’s only ever broken one promise to Stan before, and the month-long silent treatment is still the worst thing he has ever been through. Except, maybe, the situation he’s in now.

            Okay, so, maybe he wouldn’t mind the silent treatment right now. Maybe he’d even prefer it. Maybe he’d prefer absolutely anything over this.

            Still, he sucks it up, shakes out his limbs, and finally pushes open the door to the diner and makes his way inside. His legs feel a little bit like jelly, his lungs kind of ache in a way he hasn’t felt since he quit smoking last year. There’s a dizzy feeling in his head, like he just might collapse before he even lays his eyes on Eddie, like the world will go dark and save him from facing this whole thing.

            It doesn’t. Everything around him stays intact, and he spots Eddie sitting in a corner booth, slightly shaky fingers toying with a napkin and ripping off little pieces, and he knows that this is just something he’s going to have to do. His knees tremble when he walks over, his hands splaying on the surface of the table as he slides into the booth, his lips twitching up into some kind of half-assed smile as Eddie looks up at him and he murmurs a weak little, “Hey, Eds.”

            “I kissed you,” Eddie states, kind of timid but mostly firm.

            Richie blinks and slowly nods. They’re going straight into this, then.

            “I kissed you,” Eddie says again, more quiet this time, followed by, “I… I shouldn’t have kissed you, Richie. And I… I just—”

            “It’s fine,” Richie cuts in, trying not to let the bitter taste of disappointment linger on the back of his tongue and make his stomach churn. He thinks he might be sick. This isn’t a new feeling. “You don’t have to apologize, or say it was a joke, or anything. We can just… forget it. Like last time. It’s cool.”

            But Eddie shakes his head insistently, leaning forward to plant his elbows on the table and run both his hands through his hair, the shredded remains of his napkin piled in front of him. “It’s not cool,” he murmurs, eyes squeezing shut, blinking open, flickering to Richie, then squeezing shut again. “You’re… I don’t…” he trails off, sinking his teeth into his lower lip and slumping back in his seat with a sigh, looking almost defeated when he settles his gaze on Richie hopelessly. Sounding kind of weird, in a way Richie can’t quite place, he says, “You walk me to class, Richie. Every day since we started sixth grade, even when it got you a detention for being late, and even now that you dropped out of college. You still find a way to wait for me outside and walk me to my next class. And you… you always know how to make me feel better when I’m upset, you know? And when you moved in with me, you kept asking if I was sure I wanted to share my space with you, as if we weren’t sharing a dorm just last year and getting along fine, like… like you expected me to regret having you around, or something.”

            Kind of confused, but mostly trying to suppress the odd bubble of panic forming in his chest, Richie chokes out, “Eddie, I don’t—”

            “And I was thinking,” Eddie goes on, moving his eyes down to the table and tapping his fingers nervously. “I realized that, uh… you’ve never, _ever_ told me about your crushes. Like, ever. And I know Stan is the person who knows everything about you, but I always thought I knew enough about you to be able to hear about the people you liked, right? I even started telling you about the people I was crushing on to see if you’d open up to me about it, but you never did. And I… I know why, now. I know why you never did. I know why you looked so weird after I kissed you at the party three years ago. I know why I shouldn’t have kissed you last week. I… I _know_ , okay? I know how you feel about me.”

            Richie wishes he had turned around, because this is worse than what he had expected. This is worse than what he thought was possible. He averts his gaze to the wall, trying to swallow back the lump in his throat and ignoring the way tears start to burn behind his eyes. “I’m sorry,” is all he can really think to say.

            Eddie’s head whips up so fast it looks painful, eyes wide and a little frantic. He reaches forward, looking like he wants to take Richie’s hand in his, but stops short. Voice airy and light and kind of thick, he rushes out, “Don’t say sorry! Don’t do that! You don’t say sorry for that, okay? I don’t… I don’t know what to say, but you can’t be sorry. Not for this. I’m… I’m _glad_ , Richie. I don’t know… I don’t know how long, or how deep, but I… I feel something, too, okay? And that’s why I kissed you, because I’m trying to- trying to understand it, and figure it out, and I shouldn’t have kissed you because I wanted to talk to you about it first, but I didn’t and now we’re here and I don’t know if I’m making any sense but I really fucking hope you understand what I’m trying to say.”

            And Richie kind of, maybe, sort of… starts to cry. A little. Or a lot. Definitely a lot.

            “No,” Eddie breathes, pitching forward to scramble out of his side of the booth and plop himself next to Richie, hands hovering momentarily before settling on Richie’s shaking shoulders. “No, no, no, Richie, don’t- don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Whenever you cry, it makes me cry, and I was really hoping this would be a happy moment, not a crying moment.”

            A wet laugh gurgles between Richie’s tears, kind of punched out of him as he wipes at his cheeks and looks at Eddie with a grin. “Sorry,” he murmurs, voice kind of wobbly and eyelids fluttering as he tries to blink his vision clear. He laughs again, this time a little louder. “I really do cry a lot, don’t I?”

            “It’s endearing,” Eddie shrugs, lips twitching up into a smile that’s both fond and relieved. “But you really do make everyone else cry, even when they’re good tears. I can’t explain why, but you just look so sad when you cry, and no one ever wants to see you sad, so it makes us sad, and then we cry, too.” He hesitates for a second, then moves a hand up from Richie’s shoulder to gently cup his jaw, thumb brushing at the dampness on his cheek, and he nervously asks, “Can I try that whole kissing you thing again, but without all the shittiness that’s happened afterward? ‘Cause I don’t want to go through this again, but I really want to kiss you. Like, badly.”

            “I, uh…” Richie trails off, a little speechless, a lot frozen to the spot. Dumbly, he nods, trying to remind himself to breathe when Eddie gently turns his head to the side, hesitates there, and then leans in, slow and careful and a little timid, too.

            The kiss is… kind of normal, and salty, and a little cold, just like the last two were, but Eddie doesn’t pull away and laugh this time. He stays there, lips pressed to his, and it becomes something warmer and wonderful, and Richie’s heart stutters in his chest, and his fingers twitch once in uncertainty before he splays a hand on the back of Eddie’s neck to pull him closer, the other gripping his shoulder, almost afraid that Eddie will vanish if he lets go. He’s dreamed of moments like this plenty of times, but this kiss is better than anything he could have imagined, better than the dreams and the hopes and the wishes and the heartbreak and the fear and everything that’s come before now.

            Richie pulls back, their lips separating with an audible little pop, and blinks at Eddie with wide, glossy eyes. Eddie smiles at him, caresses his jaw, and opens his mouth to say something. He doesn’t get the chance, though, because Richie speaks before him, tone light and airy and dazed, saying, “I need to tell Stan.”

            Eddie leans back slightly, not expecting that, then lets out a loud laugh, pulling Richie in to kiss him again, this time quick and brisk and light, before releasing him entirely to sit on his side of the booth again. “Make sure you tell him that we’re on a date, too,” he says, grinning at the way those words make Richie’s cheeks flush. “Which means you have to wait to call him, Tozier. If this is our first date, phones have to be off the table. That’s my only rule, okay?”

            “Yeah, okay, just—” Richie pulls out his phone, typing quickly, knowing full well that he likely has at least one typo in that mess of a message, before shoving his phone back in his pocket. It starts to go off instantly, Stan likely spamming him with texts demanding to hear every detail about what the hell is happening, but he ignores it and leans forward to prop his head in his hand and bat his eyelashes at Eddie dramatically. “So, come here often?”

            Eddie snorts, picking up his pile of napkin shreds and throwing them at Richie, watching in amusement as the scraps rain down on his like confetti. “Never, actually,” he replies simply, a complete lie, but neither of them bother to point it out in order to keep the charade going. “I’ve heard they have killer milkshakes, though.”

            “Milkshakes?” Richie repeats, brows twitching up. “With breakfast? Why, Mister Kaspbrak, I think you spend too much time with me.”

            “Not enough,” Eddie corrects, opening his menu and snickering as Richie starts to shake the napkin bits out of his hair. “Now, are we splitting a chocolate shake, or what?”

            Richie looks at Eddie with a wide grin and says, “ Of course we are, Eds. Two straws, cherry on top, the whole shebang. What kind of question is that?”

            “The kind of question I feel I should ask on a date,” Eddie shrugs, unbothered. “Now shut up and pick out what you want, I’m fucking starving.”

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what u think!!
> 
> **tumblr: **lo-v-ers  
>  **twitter (that i barely use lol): **lo_v_ers********


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